Puffin's Note - This story is darker in tone than most work I've seen in this fandom, hence the rating. This has been quite fun to write, and I hope it willl be fun to read. As this is a work in progress, reviews are always appreciated, and may just help succeeding chapters appear in a more timely fashion.
The Fine Print - Characters and situations belong to their resective authors. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
It was three days since Alice had left and Tarrant was afraid that killing Time was quite out of the question. Before, when he had been waiting for Alice to come back (and she had been dreadfully, unconscionably late, but never mind that now) killing Time had worked, because he knew that there was a definite date he was attempting to pry from Time's rigid grip - Gribling Day, the date of Alice's eventual return to Underland. Secure in the knowledge that the date would arrive sooner or later, Tarrant had been, if not content, at least resigned to waiting through the inevitable span of intervening, mediocre hours.
But now that Frabjous Day had come and gone, there was nothing in the Oraculum that indicated one way or another whether Alice would ever come back to Underland. It surprised Tarrant that he had not thought to ponder this before (as most things concerning Alice were worthy of many hours of deep pontification) and he decided finally that he had never considered the possibility of Alice's future beyond Frabjous Day because he had simply assumed that if Alice survived, then she would of course have stayed in Underland. And had Alice (don't think it, horrible crawling terrifying word) - had Alice word-that-begins-with-a-D - well, in that case, Time would be the least among things to be killed that day. Including, Tarrant had thought, himself.
But Alice had won, and had won for herself the right to end her own story in her own way. Tarrant had simply never foreseen that she would chose to leave. This, he reflected, should not have come as such a surprise. After all, she had always left before.
The very worst part was this. Tarrant had a nasty suspicion that he could, if he wanted (and he did want, he wanted very much), go to the aboveground world and see Alice, perhaps speak with her, even perhaps (perhaps maybe possibly), ask her to return. He could tell her how beautiful the flowers looked in the forests along the outskirts of Witzend. Describe the incomparable loveliness of the White Castle of Mamoreal viewed in the light of the full moon. Speak eloquently of the many delectable varieties of tea cloistered away in his cupboards in the windmill. And then tell her how unfathomably tedious he found it all without her about to share it with.
It was five days since Alice had left and Tarrant was speaking with the White Rabbit. The rabbit had listened patiently; now he crinkled up his lip and sighed.
"I have been to the aboveground world several times," he admitted. "But the paths there and back always change, you know. And not all of the paths are safe roads."
"But you found a safe road before, "protested the hatter. "Twice!"
"Yes," sighed the rabbit. "But both times I had directions straight from the White Queen herself, and there were still some very tricky moments. Not to mention a nasty run-in with a fox. And even so, I didn't so much find Alice as allow her to find me. She's gotten here three times now, remember. If she wants to come back, I dare say she'll manage it somehow."
Tarrant found that answer entirely unsatisfactory, touching as it did on the unsettling notion that Alice might not want to come back at all. Though the rabbit's words did bring up another curious question.
"But if the paths between worlds are so dangerous, how does Alice always find the right road?" Tarrant asked.
"Haven't the foggiest," said the rabbit, rubbing his ears.
After leaving the White Rabbit, he had tried discussing the subject with Mirana. The White Queen had only given him an infinitely sad look, and said, "My champion has won the right to her own ending, whatever she wishes that to be. We have no right to interfere with her choice."
He had tried to explain to the Queen about killing Time, and wanting things he knew he shouldn't, and the problems of enjoying a good cup of tea now that Alice had gone away again, but the words he had so carefully gathered to explain his thoughts chose that moment to scamper out of their paddock like unruly ponies. It hardly seemed worth the effort to gather them all up again, so he simply shook his head, and walked dejectedly out of the room. Several hours later, Tarrant was surprised to discover that he was still walking, his feet having set him on the path back to the windmill at some point during the interval.
It was nine days since Alice had left and Tarrant was lying on his back in the windmill, looking up at a tiny crack in the ceiling he had just now noticed. He had once thought that killing Time while he waited for Gribling Day had been a distasteful task, nearly as horrible as over boiled vegetables or a sloppily glued satin lining. This, Tarrant had to admit, was worse. This was waiting when no good could come of the thing being waited for. It reminded him uncomfortably of the Dreadful Time, in Salazen Grum. (Time had been screaming, hadn't it, Tarrant?)
Tarrant thought he had recalled there being a rather elegant wooden worktable in this room, once upon a time, and an overstuffed chair of a particularly bewitching shade of mauve. But he must have been mistaken, for while there was furniture stuffing scattered plentifully across the floor, as well as many thin, brittle-looking slats of wood, Tarrant could see no way that such ragtag odds and ends could ever be made to resemble an overstuffed chair or a worktable and why is a raven like a -
Tarrant shied away from the thought, inexplicably certain that thinking of ravens or writing desks at the present time was likely to precipitate a Bad State of Affairs. He rubbed at his eyes and noticed as he did so that his hands were, equally inexplicably, studded with many small wooden splinters. Those were new, he thought. So was the broken glass where, in a more usual state of affairs, a window would normally be expected to be.
Gingerly, Tarrant rolled onto his stomach and rested his forehead against the cool wooden slats of the windmill floor. He had killed time often enough, he mused. It seemed clear to him that Time was now, hour by hour, cheerfully repaying the favor.
The Idea made its first appearance at some point during the tenth day, and it was not five minutes after making the acquaintance of this particular Idea that he and the Idea were back on their way to Mamoreal. In Tarrant's opinion, it was all in all simply a splendid Idea, beautiful and bubbling and quite resembling something Alice herself might think up. While he walked, he set the Idea to work gathering up all of the wooly, wandering words he would need to fully explain the Idea to the White Queen when he arrived. The Idea was very good at its job, gently coaxing the words one by one, whispering delicious thoughts in their ears - promises of sugar cubes and currycomb brushes and tangled yellow hair. By the time Tarrant and the Idea arrived at Mamoreal, the words were lined up and waiting,tossing their heads and impatiently drumming their feet. When Tarrant found the White Queen, at work on a potion that looked like a mockingbird's song, he had only to open the gate and let the words trot happily out.
"You said that Alice has chosen to return to the Aboveground world and that we should not interfere with her choice," he said.
Mirana solemnly inclined her head.
"But choices have a way of coming and going, do they not? You make a choice one day and find later that the choice you thought you made has turned into something else. Or, you make a choice, and you make it as carefully as you can, and it is so beautiful that you think you will keep it up on your mantle for ever. But sometimes the choice becomes something you cannot bear to look at, and you can't ever unmake it; the seams are too strong to tear out. You must lock it somewhere out of sight or you'll go mad, do you see?"
Mirana nodded her head again. "Yes," she said. "Many people have made choices they wish they could undo. But thankfully, such terrible choices are not made often. Or at all, if one is lucky."
Tarrant gathered up the best words he could for this, the crux of his argument. "Would Alice ever unmake a choice?" he whispered. "Is there a moment, even one, when she would choose differently?"
"Alice's choices, and regrets, and the consequences of each, are hers and hers alone," said the Queen sternly.
"But is there a moment?" Tarrant insisted. "Is there a moment where she would choose differently? Because if there is, and I brought her back, then it wouldn't be interfering, it would be helping, because it would be what she wants. If she wants. If she wants at all." The words were in definite danger of breaking out of their paddock again. Tarrant took a shaky breath and continued in a small voice. "I want. It's all I can feel, I can't breathe for the wanting, sometimes. And if I want so much, can't she ever feel the slightest little bit of wanting? Even once? Even for just one moment?"
"Tarrant Hightopp, I do not know the answer to that. That is only for Alice to know,and for those that she might choose to confide in."
"But you can look, can't you?" demanded Tarrant. "You've looked before - you knew where to send the White Rabbit, you must have looked, as it got closer and closer to Frabjous Day and she still hadn't come back..."
Tarrant trailed off as the Queen glanced uneasily back at her potion. Something in her expression told Tarrant that he had guessed correctly. She had looked. With the fate of her kingdom, her crown and possibly her life, all staked on the actions of this strange aboveground girl, glancing into that girl's life would have been a difficult temptation to resist. The White Queen stared into the mockingbird potion for a long moment before she turned back to Tarrant, laying her hands palm-down on the wooden worktable.
"I... possess the ability to see glimpses of Alice's world, yes, but -"
"Then you can look for a moment! You can see if there is a moment that she would change! And if there isn't one, I shan't ever bother anyone about Alice ever again!" Tarrant promised.
The White Queen held up a hand, forestalling him. "You wish me to look for a moment in Alice's aboveground life where she would be... receptive... to returning to Underland with you?"
"Yes," said Tarrant, enormously pleased that the White Queen had grasped the essentials of his Idea.
"I will look," said the Queen with reluctance. "Wait here."
The Queen must have found such a moment very quickly, for she was not gone very long at all. It was barely enough time for the hatter to begin to feel nervous, contemplating the idea that perhaps there would be no such moment after all. What then? The Idea had nothing to say to that, and the words grazing nervously outside the paddock weren't very helpful either. So Tarrant paced, and looked at the potion that resembled a mockingbird's song and wondered, if mockingbirds imitated the calls of other birds, how anyone could tell whether it was a mockingbird's song at all, and if a mockingbird could imitate the call of a writing desk -
"There is such a moment," said the Queen in a hollow voice. "When Alice our Champion may choose to return to Underland, should you venture to her world to ask her."
"May choose," Tarrant repeated doubtfully, but despite the dubious implications of those particular words, hope was fizzing in his veins like tiny sparkling bubbles. "But what about will choose, or will stay or -"
"I do not know," said the White Queen. "Understand, Tarrant, I only see what may transpire, not what will transpire. Few moments in the future are entirely fixed, and that is especially true concerning Alice."
Tarrant had to admit that that made a certain sense. After all, not even Alice herself seemed to know exactly what Alice would do from one moment to the next. She simply did, exactly that, and part of the joy of being around her was allowing oneself to become caught up in the resulting consequences. Tarrant was certain that if he could get to The Moment, whatever and whenever it was, that he could convince Alice to come back to Underland - if anyone could, he was the hatter for the job. Scrumptious teas, he thought to himself. Moonlit gardens. Lovely flowers.
The hatter's elation was palpable. "How can I get to the moment?" he asked the White Queen frantically. "Is there a road that will take me there? Or a rabbit hole, or -"
"Come with me," the Queen said, and she did not sound pleased at all.
The White Queen led him to a tower room on the western side of Mamoreal, Tarrant following eagerly behind her, and Tarrant's Idea bouncing giddily behind them both. The Queen stopped first in the kitchen to select a stoppered jug half-full of a dark liquid and then, more ominously, at the pantry to select a wide bowl and a small, pointy-looking knife. Tarrant swallowed nervously at the sight of the knife, suddenly smelling a sick aroma of rusting iron and dripping stones, hearing the clatter of chains and the yowling scream of taut ropes, when before there was nothing but the vanilla-tinted breezes waving through Mamoreal's airy corridors. The hatter's eyes opened very wide, and it was only by thinking in a very determined fashion of Alice, and the imminent prospect of seeing her again, that he was able to avoid entering into another Bad State of Affairs.
Nevertheless, Tarrant obediently followed the Queen, the Idea poking him firmly in the back whenever he showed signs of slowing his steps.
Eventually, they came to a small room near the top of one of the towers, bare but for a small round table and an empty mirror frame. The room smelled dusty, despite the vanilla, as if no one had been inside in quite a long while. Tarrant examined the mirror frame curiously. It was made of wood, and taller than Tarrant even wearing his hat. The heavy frame was carved with what looked like ivy, although hadn't he heard that the ivy with three leaves wasn't the good sort of ivy? Botanical perversity aside, it seemed to be in all other respects a lovely mirror - aside from its distinct lack of glass.
"That is your door," said the White Queen from the table, where she had carefully laid down the bowl and the word-beginning-with-k. "Or it will be, once we have finished the preparations." She unstoppered the small bottle and carefully poured the contents into bowl.
"But understand, Tarrant," the Queen said in a velvet voice. "Where you are going, I cannot give you a road back. I know of no safe paths that lead back to Underland where you will be. You will be on Alice's road from the moment you step across, do you understand? She makes her own paths, but there is no telling where they may lead her. Or you, should you choose to follow her."
Alice's road, the hatter thought. Tarrant had the distinct feeling that he had already walked on Alice's road briefly during her previous visits. If so, it was bound to be enchanting, dangerous and entirely unexpected. Surely there would be no better road to travel, especially if he walked it alongside Alice herself.
"Are you resolved to this course, Tarrant Hightopp?" the White Queen asked solemnly.
"I am," he replied
"Then we need only await one final ingredient," said the Queen. "As Alice returned to the aboveground world with Jabberwock blood, so, too, is blood required for you to follow her." She matter-of-factly spun the knife on the table so that the handle was facing the hatter, and stepped back from the table. "Three drops should be sufficient."
Tarrant would have backed away from the table as well, had his knees been feeling more up to the challenge of supporting him. Leaning heavily against the table, he shook his head violently, less in denial than to try and get the horrible iron-and-damp smell out of his nose. "Blood?" he asked in a faint voice.
"Yes," said the White Queen in a kinder tone. "Blood, freely spilled or forcibly taken, is one of the most powerful ingredients of all. Indeed, there is no more precious thing in all of Underland. Without it, this potion won't have the power even to get you to the other side of Mamoreal, let alone all the way to Alice's world."
"And need it be my blood, in particular?"
"That would be best," the Queen said calmly.
The Idea stepped next to Tarrant, bobbing its head in an encouraging manner. Alice, Tarrant reminded himself. I'm doing this for Alice.
With that thought, the Hatter shut his eyes and held out his right hand over the bowl.
"I rather think," he murmured, "that it would be altogether better if you were to, erm -"
The hatter heard the Queen back even further away from the table. Opening his eyes, he saw her holding a hand over her mouth and nose and looking a little taken aback.
The White Queen lowered her hand immediately upon meeting Tarrant's eyes, and her face slipped serenely into its habitual expression of tranquility.
"I am afraid I cannot help you," she said wistfully. "My vows prevent me from harming any living creature, even in such a case as this." She licked her lips nervously and made no move to come any closer to Tarrant, the table or the word-beginning-with-k.
Very well, thought Tarrant, forcing himself to look at the blade. For Alice, he reminded himself. I am doing this for Alice. Three drops of blood for Alice. Hardly anything at all, really. You loose more blood that that every time you try to sew without your favorite thimble, so why -
Without another thought, Tarrant ripped off his hat and snatched one of the long straight pins he kept tucked into the ribbon. Sniffing disdainfully in the direction of the knife, he stuck the pin firmly into the tip of his finger and just as firmly pulled it out. Blood welled at the tip and one drop rolled off his finger and into the bowl.
The potion seemed to actually take notice of Tarrant's contribution, glowing white for a moment in the spot where the droplet had landed, and continuing to glow for nearly a second after the blood had dissolved. It was actually rather pretty, thought Tarrant as he watched the second and third drops react the same way.
"Enough," said the White Queen, licking her lips again. "We cannot have it growing greedy."
Not entirely sure what that meant, Tarrant tucked the pin back into his hat , returned the hat to his head and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his finger.
Covering her mouth again, the White Queen stepped towards the table and examined the potion with a critical eye. Seemingly satisfied, she picked up the bowl, carefully keeping her face averted from the liquid. Turning towards the frame, she tossed the liquid directly at the space where the glass ought to be.
Except the liquid did not go through the frame at all, but clung to the empty space between the wood, dripping and running down along the open air until it had completely covered the void in the empty frame like a black sheet. Tarrant stepped around the table to look at it more closely.
As he did so, he had to revise his initial assessment. The not-glass wasn't black, exactly, though it was dark, and very glossy, but it still apparently functioned as a mirror. Or at least, it was reflecting something, though he couldn't at first make out what it was. The shape seemed rather pale and lanky, and he could hardly make out any features at all about its face. It was only when he moved to scratch his head, and the shape copied his gesture, that he realized that this odd reflection was supposed to be him. The hatter straightened his cuffs and regarded the not-Tarrant dubiously.
The White Queen stepped beside him, her reflection joining his in the glass. She was just as pale in the dark liquid as he was, except for her eyes and lips, so large and dark that the distorted reflection looked like nothing so much as a skull. Standing on his other side, Tarrant was surprised to note, was a smaller figure in a dark blue dress, which blended into the dim substance of the mirror well enough that it had not been immediately visible to the hatter.
After an initial moment of surprise (pale skin, blue dress, long curling hair), Tarrant identified the figure not as Alice but as his Alice-ish Idea. Tarrant thought it odd that he hadn't noticed it creeping up as it had, for it was standing extremely close to Tarrant, as if it had recently been whispering in his ear. Both of its arms were wrapped firmly around Tarrant's middle. It occurred to the hatter for the first time that this Idea of his seemed to be an extremely Possessive Idea.
"You must step through quickly," said the White Queen, still covering her mouth with one hand. "The mirror will only last for another minute at most." Tarrant could already see where the liquid was slowly dripping from the bottom of the frame and onto the floor. The unusual mirror was already beginning to disappear.
Alice,he whispered to himself. It was ten days since Alice had left and for the first time in ten days, that particular word was entirely and unequivocally a happy one. Nudging the Idea back to a more respectable distance, Tarrant straightened his cravat, settled his hat more firmly onto his head, and stepped forward.
"Fairfarren, Tarrant," the White Queen called from behind him.
"Fairfarren, my Queen," the hatter replied softly. And well met, Alice.
Closing his eyes at the last moment, the hatter stepped into the mirror.
Puffin's Note - I am anticipating this fic to be six or seven chapters in length; one additional chapter is already written, however, it doesn't appear sequentially after this, as I very rarely write my stuff from beginning to end. (Currently I'm writing the last chapter. After than, I'll go back and give y'all chapter two.)
Questions or comments? Please review, and thanks for taking to time to read.